Luck Was Only a Factor
by Charlotte Lobster
Summary: one-shot. How Cinna became a stylist, and why he wanted district twelve.


**Disclaimer: I, sadly, don't own THG**

_A/N: Quick one shot about Cinna and him becoming a stylist. I tried something different (writing in 3rd person!) so tell me what you think._

_P.S. sorry for not updating my other hunger games story in forever! I'm still working on it. I promise!_

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**Luck Was Only a Factor**

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Cinna sat in front of the desk of his former teacher, the one who had taught him at the fashion and design school he had graduated from a few years ago. The older man, Curio Botwall, wordlessly flipped another page of the black book that was filled with Cinna's designs. He had asked his old teacher to take a look at them before his presentation to the Gamemakers. Things needed to run smoothly when he applied as a stylist.

Cinna felt his foot begin to tap against the grey wood floor, again. Curio had said nothing since opening the book, and Cinna couldn't determine if it was a good sign or not. He really wished he would say something, anything, even just smile or nod. His old teacher had been the first person to come to mind when Cinna thought of showing off his works. Throughout school, he had respected the man and known he was a genius when it came to clothing. Most importantly, though, he was honest. He would tell Cinna if his designs would be a hit with the Gamemakers.

"Well," Curio started, bringing Cinna out of his thoughts. The man shut the book and straightened it in the center of his desk before looking up at the most talented pupil he had ever taught.

He smiled. "Well," He repeated, "If anything, they sure are hot."

Cinna laughed along politely at the poor joke. That was the one flaw of his teacher. He was, without a doubt, a resident of the Capitol. Complete with the ever changing hair colors, extreme make up, and frivolous personality.

"But do you think they're any good?" Cinna questioned.

"Yes," Curio replied, flipping the book back open. "Amazing work, really, Cinna. Truly amazing."

"So you think I have a shot?"

"Yes," Curio answered, looking at one of the many fire inspired outfits, "As long as you can make the real things look this good."

"That won't be a problem," Cinna said, thinking about the clothes he had already started. They looked like exact copies of his drawings.

"All the flames and fire," Curio commented, flipping to another red, yellow, and orange design, "So very original. But they don't seem to go with District one, two, or four. Is there an opening in a lower district this year?"

"Yes," Cinna answered, "District twelve."

The old teacher tore his gaze away from the pages to give Cinna a disbelieving look. "And you want that district?" Cinna nodded. "Well," Curio handed the book back to Cinna, "You could easily make it into one of the higher districts."

Cinna shrugged, accepting his design book. "I want twelve." He stated simply.

"But they always lose," Curio continued. Always die, Cinna thought to himself. "Ah, I get it. You're rooting for the underdog."

"Maybe I'm just tired of watching two kids parade around in poorly made miner costumes."

"Well, these outfits will blow the audience away," Curio said, leaning back in his chair.

Cinna locked the book under his arm, standing up. "Thank you for taking the time to look at these," He said to his old teacher.

The man smiled from his spot behind the desk. "No problem," He responded then added as Cinna was leaving, "Good luck."

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Cinna had not been expecting so many people to show up to apply for stylist positions. But the waiting room was stuffed full of strangely decorated people, hoping to impress the Gamemakers with their designs. Really, he shouldn't worry. These people were all hoping to be accepted for Districts 1, 2, or 4, the districts that replaced their stylists with new ones every year. He would be the only person asking for the open spot in District 12. But that fact didn't make him any less nervous.

He knew how much depended on this moment. Memories from the groups last meeting replayed through his head. The leaders had voiced the importance of this mission. He would be their final person on the inside. Other members were in various sections of the Games, but he was the one who would be working directly with the tributes. And they mattered the most.

Cinna held his black book to his chest, chanting words of confidence through his head. He was good, he was creative, he was original.

"Nervous?"

He was... distracted. Turning to his left where the question had come from, he saw a women, no older than he, sitting next to him, her own design book laying in her lap.

"A little, maybe," He replied coolly, "What about you?"

"Definitely," She said with a breathy laugh, uncrossing her legs only to cross them again the other way, "But I guess that's only normal."

Cinna nodded, letting his black design book fall to his lap.

"I'm Portia, by the way," The woman said sticking out her hand.

"Cinna," He said, shaking it.

"Any district you're hoping to get?" She asked.

He nodded. "Twelve."

"Really?" She asked, a little shocked. She sat back in her chair, grinning a little. "Hmm. I didn't even know there was an opening this year. But, really? Twelve?"

Cinna smiled and shrugged. "I have some good ideas."

"Well good for you." She sighed. "I guess I'd even be happy with twelve. I just want to get in."

Cinna opened his mouth to respond, but stopped when he heard his name called. "Hopefully you will."

Portia smiled then waved. "Good luck!"

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"District twelve?" One of the Gamemakers asked, "Huh. Well that's a first."

No one had ever asked for a lower district, even when they're open. All the stylists that had applied had been so focused on getting One, Two, or Three to make something unforgettable. But the designs the Gamemakers were looking at were surely something memorable.

"Well you definitely in," The Head Gamemaker told Cinna. A smile lit up his face. "But are you sure you want twelve. I mean you could do some amazing things for the upper districts."

"I'm sure about my choice," Cinna replied the smile still on his face, "Twelve or nothing."

"Alright, then. We will see you when the 74th Games begin."

"Thank you, so much," Cinna said, then turned to leave.

"Wait," One of the makers called out. Cinna stopped, turning back around. "I've got to know. Why in the world do you want twelve?"

"Because," Cinna started, his eyes catching Plutarch Heavensbee's, a Gamemaker who was part of the group that had sent Cinna here. An underground resistance group. Cinna remembered the day he contacted him. Apparently, his father had praised Cinna's talents in designing while he was still alive and part of the group.

They told him all about his father's activities with the group. Told him what they were planning to do, and his part in the plan. Told him he'd have one person on his side, but would have to be good enough to win over all the makers if he wanted in.

Because it's all part of the plan, Cinna thought in his head.

But instead his teacher's words came back to him. "Because sometimes you have to root for the underdog."

With that he turned around and headed out of the door. The maker that had stopped him called out again.

"Well, good luck."


End file.
